


Calls

by captainodonewithyou



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5042935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainodonewithyou/pseuds/captainodonewithyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy and Lincoln's communication between last week and this week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calls

She doesn’t call him, not at first.  She is not sure what she can possibly say and she is also pretty sure he won’t answer, or he will hear her voice and hang up.  She doesn’t call because…she thinks she is being selfish—she can’t bear to it to be real, for her to call him and hear his soft breathing and then be shut out with a click that she is sure she will be unable to prevent—she is not even sure she doesn’t _deserve_ it.

She was supposed to protect him, after all.  Now she isn’t even sure if finding him is what is best for him—isn’t sure she can trust Coulson, isn’t sure she _should_ , not when it is Lincoln’s _life_ on the line.

And it is all she can think about, everything triggering the anxious cycle of thoughts.  The air is getting cooler and she wakes in the mornings with static built up in her hair and a chill in her bones and she wonders where he is, if he is keeping warm—sometimes reaches for her phone before reminding herself of exactly why she shouldn’t.

Part of her tells her she is waiting for him, hoping he will contact her.  Part of her knows that after the last time he reached out to her, he would be smart never to do it again.

After three days, the worry eating at the pit of her stomach outweighs her anxiety about his response, and she types a message quickly, entering the number she has located and hitting send before she has time to reconsider.

_“I hope you’re alright.”_

Mack asks her if he is okay, that same day.  He has been paying her particularly apt attention that she is sure, left unchecked will grow old quickly.  It is particularly un-Mack of him—he is sensitive to how his attentions settle on their recipients—but she thinks that his concern might not be entirely for her and when he asks, her theory is confirmed.

“You’ve heard from him, haven’t you?”

Her phone feels heavy in her pocket as she shakes her head, averting her eyes to the ground and hoping he doesn’t see straight through them anyway.

He is quiet a moment.

“He’ll be alright, tremors.  The guy is a walking lightning-rod.”

She doesn’t tell him it isn’t the people _after him_ that she is worried about.

She stands in the shower for longer than she needs the water to scrub her skin, after she goes with Coulson to meet with the ATCU—seeing the cool eyes of the team solely responsible for turning him into a fugitive.

(“Sorry you lost your asset,” Price tells her in a dry tone, and despite Coulson’s warning to ‘play nice,’ Daisy finds herself wanting to play anything but.

“My _friend_ , actually,” she smiles coolly and feels the director’s warning gaze on the back of her neck.  “but you know, I’m also _really bummed_ I lost those awesome powers.  That’s _definitely_ what I’ll never move on from.”)

After she blow dries her hair, she sends another message that falls neatly in-line beneath the first.

_“I’m worried about you.”_

For all she knows it is the wrong damn number.

She hopes it isn’t.  She hopes he can see that she cares.

She wakes up to her phone singing.  She isn’t sure what time it is—it is dark and she is groggy, and when she sees his name filling the blinding screen she fumbles quickly to answer before she can glance at the time.

“Lincoln?”

Her voice shatters the silence of her bunk and her bed creaks as she sits up, trying to hold the warm sheets close to her one-handed.

The other end is quiet, other than his soft breathing.

She prepares herself for the click, squeezing her eyes shut tight even though she can’t see anything through the pressing darkness regardless.

“Did you get out?”

She is relieved to hear his voice and it sends a freeing rush through her bloodstream. She hadn’t even realized she was holding her breath—and this time it is her response that is belated too long for him to wait.

“I shouldn’t have run, I should have made sure you were alright—I was scared, but, god, that isn’t an excuse.  I don’t want to make excuses—I’m just… so sorry.”

“ _What_?”

“You never would have left me.  I never should have left you.”

There is a brokenness to his voice that is only heightened by the static of the call, an empty pleading that nags at her heart.  And the regret, the guilt—he sounds like everything she has felt and god, she wants to go back.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. betrayed _you_ , Lincoln—this isn’t the other way around.  What do you think you should have done!?”

Another pause.  More breathing.  She waits for the click.

“ _S.H.I.E.L.D._ betrayed me, you didn’t.  You were in danger too and I… I just saved my own ass.”

She takes a breath, long and slow.  He is alright.  He got out alright.

“Daisy—“

His voice fades out and she isn’t sure what he was going to say, not in the slightest—but she hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to hear her name on his tongue.  It is like a seal, an assurance that it is him and he is real and he is alright.

Not okay, not by a long shot.  

But _alive_.

“Don’t.  Stop, Lincoln—please.  If you wouldn’t have ran the ATCU would have you and who the hell knows what would have happened, then.  Don’t beat yourself up for _surviving_.”

He doesn’t respond, and she pulls her sheets tighter around her body as she leans back against the wall, tucking her knees to her chest.

“Do you need anything right now?  Have you found somewhere to stay?”

(Are you safe?)

He reads between the lines with ease.

“I’m… safe.”

She thinks of the Afterlife, of the true safe haven he was a part of providing her there—and she is clenching her teeth in regret.

“I wish I could do more.”

This time, there is no pause.

“I know.”

The silence that follows is heavier, longer—lasting.  But neither of them makes a move to break it.

She wonders again where he is.  If he is as warm as she is—but she knows better than to ask.  Knows better than thinking her knowing his whereabouts will in any way protect him.

“I should go,” he murmurs.  “I just wanted to…”

She knows.

“Call me again.  Soon.”

“I will.”

_“Take care of yourself.”_


End file.
